Home
by LadyVegeets
Summary: Home is where the heart is.


Bulma shifted the basket of laundry to her left hip and knocked on Vegeta's door.

"Enter."

She did, injecting her stride and smile with an extra shot of joviality to combat the taciturn reception she was sure to meet. "Don't mind me, I'm just bringing your…clothes." Her voice trailed off as she surveyed the room. She hadn't been in here for a while. Normally her encounters with Vegeta revolved around the kitchen, the GR, or her lab. How long had he been living with her now? Almost a year since Namek, and yet the room was just as spartan as the day he had moved in. There wasn't a single personal item — not even a repositioned chair — except for his clothing, most of which was currently in the laundry basket.

For some reason it struck her as incredibly sad.

Vegeta approached, wearing black sweat pants with a white Capsule Corp. logo and nothing else. She had given him those pants. In fact, she had given him all his things. That being the case, should she really be so surprised that his room was this bare? He had arrived on her planet with only the damaged clothes on his back and an attitude to match. But surely in a year he had acquired some items to personalize his space?

Vegeta took the laundry and gave her a narrowed look. "It's normally your mother that brings these." He was suspicious of her presence, but then he was always suspicious, his guard turned up to maximum day-in day-out. Didn't he ever grow tired of it?

"I wanted to wash _my_ clothes but _yours_ were still in the dryer," she explained, still eyeing his room in the desperate hope of finding evidence that the space was lived in. But there wasn't even a picture of Goku with darts thrown at the eyes.

Why couldn't she let the matter go? Was it because she felt responsible?

Ah! A memory struck her with the joyful resound of church bells. "Hey, where's that book?"

Vegeta frowned at her, not understanding. She took a step closer in her excitement and he visibly tensed, his fingers tightening on the laundry basket.

"Don't you remember? You were complaining about not knowing the names of Earth food so I gave you the Encyclopedia on fauna and flora."

Vegeta gave her a wary look, trying to guess where she was going with this line of questioning. "I returned it to your father. If it is not where it's supposed to be, then I suggest you question him."

Bulma's shoulders slumped, her bubble burst. "But… I gave that to _you_. To keep. Didn't you like it?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Confusion. A moment's hesitation. But he quickly shielded it away and once more stonewalled her with his unfeeling black gaze. "I read it. What purpose would there be in keeping it beyond that? Do you question my ability to retain information? I assure you, my mental faculties are far superior to that idiot you call a friend."

Ah yes, what would a conversation with Vegeta be without an insult thrown at Goku's expense? Bulma pursed her lips and struggled not to give in to her rising agitation. "That's not what I meant. It was a gift, Vegeta. Do you know what that means? It means you can keep the damn thing. You're allowed to keep things in here you know."

"To what purpose?"

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "How the hell would I know? For whatever purpose you want. That's why it's your room. Jeez! I've seen wastelands that look more lived-in than this place. Are you not comfortable here?"

Vegeta's mouth thinned. Was he displeased by her outburst, or ill-at-east around someone as emotive as her? He refused to answer by turning and walking back towards his drawers to put away his laundry.

"Hey!" Undeterred, she followed in hot pursuit. "I asked you a question, bud."

He grimaced as he shoved his t-shirts away. "The room is perfectly adequate."

"Then what do you need?" she insisted, sitting on the end of his bed. "We can get you almost anything. Would you like a plant? A TV? Some artwork? Maybe some different books, we have a whole library you know. You're more than welcome to—"

"It is _adequate_ as it is," he reinforced, a vein starting to pulse on his temple. "I have no need for such frivolities." He thrust the last of his clothes away more haphazardly than when he first started, trying to hurry up the process, then pushed the empty basket into her hands with a weighted look that said _please leave now_.

But she was too invested, her heels dug in. Putting the basket aside, she ignored the pained look that crossed Vegeta's face as he realized she didn't intend to leave and continued her interrogation. "What about before? In space. Surely you had personal items?"

"No." He folded his arms over his chest, the finality of the word crisp.

A warning.

Bulma was terrible at heeding those. "Ah. Frieza didn't allow it?"

A chilling stillness overcame him, his fingers digging in to his biceps. If looks could kill… "No."

"No, he didn't allow it, or no, it was something else stopping you?"

Vegeta's jaw worked and Bulma could see the grisly death he was mentally putting her through. "Why do you persist in this line of questioning?" he growled between clenched teeth.

"Why are you being so abstruse?" she countered, standing up and putting her hands on her hips in a huff. "I don't see what the big secret is. I'm not asking you to bare your soul here, I just want to know how I can help make this place feel more like home—"

"It's not and never will be," he lashed out, a seething rage frothing forth and exploding between his teeth as he took a menacing step towards her. "What good is there in attachment when it will be gone tomorrow?"

Their conversation came to a violent halt, black steel butting up against blue. His words hurt, far more than she cared to admit because doing so meant admitting he had struck a nerve. Vegeta had been deprived a home for so long that he no longer knew what one was, nor did he dare make one. And she was the fool who had developed feelings for a man who would never allow himself to return them.

He sneered at her down the pointed line of his nose, canines flashing with disdain. She lowered her eyes so he wouldn't see the pity in them, pity for herself and for him.

"I'll leave you be." She left, his eyes boring into her the whole way to his bedroom door which snicked softly shut behind her.

~xox~

* * *

Bulma placed the laundry basket on the end of the bed and wiped her brow, arching her back to stretch it out. She felt as big as a whale, bigger than she had when she'd been pregnant with Trunks. But it was a sentiment her husband didn't share. He hovered around her as if she were as tiny as a glass bird, too frail to exist, a look of concern constantly in his eyes.

It had taken some finagling but she managed to rid herself of his worrying for the afternoon, encouraging the boys to train so that she could get some chores done. It helped her feel useful to keep busy, and it cleared her mind to focus on something less daunting than her lab work.

She glanced around their bedroom. It wasn't overly decorated. A few photos and knick-knacks dusted the surfaces to appease her tastes, while maintaining an uncluttered aesthetic to appease Vegeta's.

She pulled open her husband's top drawer and started putting away his clothes. As she moved his boxer-briefs aside her fingers encountered something solid. Intrigued, she pulled out a small box. It was very nondescript, small and wooden. She couldn't remember having seen it before. She opened the lid and felt her chest constrict.

The back of her legs hit the bed and she sat down. Inside the box were only three little things. First, a tooth, very small and white. It was Trunks', it had to be. Vegeta had knocked it out by accident during an overenthusiastic training session, a feat which Trunks had proudly shown-off to her. Boy, did she let Vegeta have it that night. He got very defensive, demanding to know what the big deal was. Teeth grew back.

"Not in humans they don't!"

"…Oh."

Luckily, Trunks had inherited his father's Saiyan genes in that department, sparing himself a trip to the dentist.

The second item was Vegeta's wedding ring. He rarely wore it as it was too impractical for training. Bulma had been hesitant about getting him one, knowing he wasn't the sentimental type especially when it came to possessions. Yet here it sat in a precious box that he had been safekeeping all these years.

The last item was a photo. An ultrasound, the first one she got to confirm the pregnancy of her unborn daughter. Bulma thought the picture lost, but Vegeta must have snuck it away from her at some point. The edges looked worn and curled, as if someone had held it a lot.

Three items, one for each member of his family, preciously collected in the heart of his home.

She smiled and wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. Closing up the box, she tucked it safely back away before finishing the rest of the laundry.

~xox~


End file.
